


Metanoia

by Maiden_of_the_Moon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Costumes, M/M, Metaphors, Self Confidence, Set around episode 3, Yuuri starts to come into his own (just a little)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9518339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_the_Moon/pseuds/Maiden_of_the_Moon
Summary: There are many reasons Yuuri chose the costume that he did.(There is one reason Yuuri chose the costume that he did.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dangersocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/gifts).



**Disclaimer:** I was born to make history, not anime, so I don't own Yuri!!! On Ice.

 **Author's Note:** This humble fandom offering is but a drabble I keyboard-smashed into my cell phone's "Notes" app while taking a walk. I only planned to entertain Dangersocks with it. But then she demanded I share it with the world. So... okay.

**XXX**

**Metanoia**

**XXX**

There is the fact that Yuuri is still wholly in love with Viktor's Junior Division performance.

There _is_ that.

There is the fact that Yuuri had been incredibly inspired by that _particular_ routine. That he and Yuko had spent hours upon hours upon hours recreating its magic, imitating its spins and swoops and swirls.

There is that, as well.

And of course there is the fact that Yuuri's interpretation of "Eros" toes the same line of androgyny that its choreographer did, back when he had long hair and a slenderer frame. Back when this outfit last saw the spotlight of competition.

There are a _lot_ of facts to consider.

And so Yuuri considers them. Remembers them. He dresses in the Ice Castle's locker room and decides it would be safest to say something along _those_ lines-- something about childhood nostalgia or homages to role models-- on the off-chance that someone should question him about the costume that he chose.

Fortunately, no one asks. No one cares, probably. Frankly. And Yuuri is grateful for this, because he has never liked lying.

(Because in fact...)

Yuuri isn't good at lying. To anyone, really. Especially to Viktor. He has basically given up trying, what with words being so hard. But this, too, is _hard:_ Honesty, transparency... They're as hard as decorative glass.

Pale cheeks flush the same color as an ice-kissed nose, and Yuuri stammers, stupid, while watching his coach's slow smile, gloved fingers running up and down an uneven silver edge. There is a nigh-dangerous twinkle to the crystal shards that spill over Yuuri's shoulder, his front, his hip, like a shower of broken ice. Like blades. Like...

"...a mirror," Viktor murmurs, thick lashes falling low over his blue, blue eyes. He chuckles, knowing and amused-- a rumble that starts low, then travels up Yuuri's spine, then warms his heart before it blisters his face-- and says, "A shattered mirror. When I wore this, I thought these symbolized diamonds, jewelry... The pretty trappings that both genders lust after like magpies. But on you..."

The Russian beams the same way he skates: Brightly, beautifully, effortlessly. Perfectly. Yuuri tries to swallow, but his mouth has gone as dry as the rink's air. His chest quivers; the crystals sparkle.

Viktor whispers in total agreement, "You are _no one's_ reflection, Yuuri."

And yes-- ( _yes_ )-- there is also that.


End file.
